JC lowered his voice. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

“I’m not going in that room with that woman.”

He let out a small sigh but didn’t try to change my mind. After scanning the hallway, he said, “Over here.” He reached to grab my arm.

I pulled away. “No. Don’t. I can walk on my own.”

He frowned, but again, he accepted it.

I followed him down the hallway and stopped at the vending room. He held the door open and gestured for me to go in. It was more private at least. And dark, the only light coming from the soda machine. And where else were we going to go? JC wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, and I certainly wasn’t waiting around for him to get dressed so we could head down to the lobby. I knew that the time I gave him now correlated with how strong my resolve was. Every second that I allowed him weakened my determination.

Leaving my suitcase in the hall, I went in.

He shut the door after him. We stared at each other.

“Well? Tamara?” My voice cracked. Shades of blue slipping in.

“I don’t even remember meeting her.” His tone was frustrated, but I sensed it was with himself more than with me. “The last thing I can clearly remember is sitting at that bar, thinking about you, thinking that if you would have just married me, it would have solved everything.”

The image pinched in my chest.

Then I realized what he was alluding too, and all compassion dissolved. “Are you trying to tell me that you got drunk over me and somehow married someone else?”

He said no words. His expression said it all.

“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m out of here.” Nice plan coming in the room first—now he was in front of the only door out. “Let me through.”

He didn’t move. “It was stupid, Gwen. I know that. I know.”

It was more than stupid—it was irresponsible and unbelievable and mean. “Let me through. I need to go.” I wanted to get around him but didn’t want to touch him. It made for quite the dilemma.

He didn’t budge. “No. Listen to me. I’m not trying to excuse what I did. It was fucked up and you have every reason to hate me. But I can undo this. I’ll get it annulled. I don’t even know that we really got married. It’s her saying that we are, that’s all. I haven’t seen any proof.”

“Each thing you say makes it worse.” Red faded into purple. I wasn’t only fuming anymore. The steam of the rage had cooled and left me hurt. Anguished. “Let me go. Please, let me go.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” He reached his hands out toward me, holding them in the air when I flinched away from his grasp. “Ah, Gwen. You and I can still be together. You came. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Did my voice sound as desperate as his did? I felt like it should. I was so very desperate. Desperate to leave. Desperate to believe him. Desperate for the whole thing to go away.

“I wish I hadn’t come now.” Wished it more than anything. “I came because I hated how things were left, not to marry you. And it doesn’t matter why I came because now you’ve been with her.” Purple-blue poured out of me, my pain evident in the texture of my words. The image of them together—having sex—it was the worst thing I could imagine. He hadn’t said they had, but how could they not? Wasn’t that what drunken marriage hook-ups in Vegas were always about?

He could tell what I was thinking. “I haven’t. I haven’t slept with her. I swear.”

“How can you be sure?” If he couldn’t remember going to a chapel and tying the knot, how could he expect to remember something as simple as unzipping his pants?

“Because I wouldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t. Ever.” He was frenzied, frantic for me to believe him. “I woke up dressed. And when I’m drunk, I can’t—” He waved his hand, letting silence fill in the blank.

“Can’t perform?”

“Exactly.”

A weight dissolved from where it had been pressing against my chest. That’s how badly I wanted what he said to be true.

Except he wasn’t all the way clothed. “Where’s your shirt then?”

“I took it off just before you got there.” When I gave him a disbelieving glare, he admitted, “I’d thrown up all over it.”

“That’s what that smell is.” That seemed to embarrass him. Good. I preferred that it did.

We were quiet for a few seconds, each of us sulking in our misery. I couldn’t say why, but I trusted him. He was a fucking irresponsible asshole, but I didn’t think he was lying. It didn’t make the situation any less painful. It didn’t help me figure out what to do or say next.

Eventually, JC spoke. “I told you I do stupid things when I drink.”

Stupid didn’t begin to cover it. “Did you kiss her?”

He looked away and cursed under his breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Maybe.” His eyes came back to mine. “If I did…if I did, Gwen, it was you. In my head it was you. The whole time. I know this isn’t helping. I know I fucked up. I was upset. I wanted you to be with me and I fucked it all up.”

He was broken. And I felt so broken myself. If I stood by him any longer, I would try to put him back together. I would fall into his arms and let him put me back together too.

He saved me from my own weakness by stepping away from the door. “Look, go. If you want, you should go. I’m not going to keep you here if you don’t want to be here.”

He crossed the room to the other wall. I could leave now. There was nothing standing in my way. Well, nothing except everything that pulled me to JC in the first place.

I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the door behind me. JC leaned against the wall behind him as well, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets. We stared at each other, a silent faceoff. Or maybe a silent agreement. This situation had gotten out of hand, and we both knew it. Problem was, neither of us knew how to correct it now.

“I’ll fix it,” he said after a few minutes. “I’ll undo it. It’s not a real marriage. I don’t even know her last name.”

“I don’t know your last name either.”

“It’s Bruzzo.”

Bruzzo. I moved my lips, testing out the feel of his name in my mouth without adding a voice to it. It was a gift. He meant it as a peace offering, and I appreciated it.